


a locket with no key

by erebones



Series: time on her side [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Baze regrets confessing her feelings to her best friend and roommate until, suddenly, she doesn't.





	a locket with no key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moreissuesthanvogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreissuesthanvogue/gifts), [elephantastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantastic/gifts).



> Just some good oldfashioned lesbian baze/chirrut in a modern setting with no redeeming qualities. Ceramicist baze is inspired by the seattle fics.
> 
> For my dear ling as a thank-you for lesbian fridays, and of course my lady-love rox. Welcome to the lesbian bang nest.

Baze comes home from work one day and Chirrut has cut her hair.

She doesn’t recognize her for a moment. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter, facing away from the door; her nape is smooth and waxy, littered with stray dark hairs, and Baze can see the top of her spine protruding from the collar of her tee shirt. After a split second hovering in the doorway, it clicks.

“Chirrut, I’m home.”

“I heard,” is the brief reply. When Baze comes into the kitchen, grocery bags rustling, she sees that Chirrut is bent over her schoolwork, finger flying over the pages of a textbook. “What did you get? Anything good?”

Baze doesn’t answer right away. She’s too busy staring. Chirrut has always had long hair, for as long as she can remember: long and black and silky, usually braided out of her face or tied in a ballerina knot at the top of her head. Soft, baby-fine hairs that refused to be corralled by hairspray or bobby pins would lay smooth against her forehead. Baze had often daydreamed of petting them with her fingers. Now, in their place, Chirrut’s hair has been mown down to a short black fuzz. Her face looks stark without it. Striking.

“Baze?”

“Sorry. Uh, yeah, I got some stuff. Tampons. Chips and salsa, apples, Totino’s.” Baze roots around in the bag and produces a chocolate bar, which she slides across the counter until it hits Chirrut’s hand. “75% cacao. It was the highest they had at the corner store. Chirrut, what did you do to your _hair_?”

Chirrut peals with laughter. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah of course, you look amazing. But _why_?”

“I needed a change,” Chirrut says simply. She puts a marker in her book to save her place and shuts it, busying herself with the wrapper instead. “I donated it. Two feet, can you believe it? My head feels so light! And it’ll be sooo easy to take care of.” She rubs her head energetically, and tiny bits of hair scatter all over the countertop. Baze sighs. “You’re going to have to help me trim it, though. It was hard to get the back. I didn’t miss any spots, did I?”

“I don’t think so.” Baze puts the Totino’s in the freezer and comes around the counter. “Can I touch?”

“Always,” Chirrut chirps. It doesn’t sound as lascivious as it should. She turns to sit sideways in her chair and bends forward, head toward Baze. “Feel away.”

Baze swallows and reaches out. Under her hands, Chirrut’s scalp is wonderfully fuzzy, and soft as microfiber. “It’s nice,” she says, and draws away.

There was a time when Baze wouldn’t have shied away from touching her so casually. They were children together, attended the same high school, moved halfway across the country to go to university together. Now they share a small apartment while Chirrut finishes school and Baze works part time in IT, trying to get her ceramics career off the ground. They’ve been thick as thieves for so long that Baze doesn’t remember a time when she _didn’t_ know Chirrut. And yet.

She hates herself a little for doing it. For confessing. A few weeks ago, tangled in a duvet with Chirrut while they watched a cheesy lesbian romcom, she had whispered her feelings into the soft, plucking guitar while the credits rolled. And Chirrut…

_I don’t know what to say._

_What do you mean?_ Stung, Baze had pulled away. Chirrut tried to grab for her wrist, but stopped at the last moment, and that hurt worse.

 _I never thought,_ Chirrut said, and stopped. _I don’t know if I’m that kind of person._

That was all there was to it. Baze has wondered, privately, if Chirrut might be aro. She hasn’t had a romantic relationship in years. The last attempt had been… disastrous. Then, of course, Baze wondered if Chirrut was in love with _her_ , and was just waiting to make her move. That was what had prompted her to finally say something. _That_ had worked out well.

Thing are improving, though. After a day or two of awkwardness, Chirrut was back to her boisterous, bombastic self, and that made it easier for Baze to fall back into her old habits. Teasing Chirrut shamelessly. Shoving at her when she was being particularly mischievous. But the casual touching… not so much.

“I’m ready for a study break,” Chirrut announces, sliding off the stool. She pads to the fridge, barefoot and scratching her ass through her sweatpants. Baze rolls her eyes.

“Make enough for me,” she says when Chirrut gets the Totino’s out again. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Good. You stink like clay dust.”

“Fuck off.”

“Make me,” Chirrut says, grinning. The smile slips a little when Baze doesn’t snap back. After a moment of paralyzed uncertainty, Baze turns and escapes to the bathroom.

By the time she’s clean and dressed in a loose tee shirt and running shorts, the Totino’s are done and Chirrut is popping them into her mouth like candy as she narrates her essay notes into a word document on her computer. Baze gets herself some and retreats to the living room, flicking on the television. This is normal, she tells herself. They do this all the time. They will continue to do this. Baze _hasn’t_ ruined everything. Their friendship can survive a little awkwardness.

Chirrut finishes her schoolwork and Baze can hear her moving around the apartment, fighting with the tiny washer-dryer unit, then getting into the shower. Baze turns up the volume on _American Gods_.

The episode ends and blurs into the next, and Baze flips it to an ocean documentary that Chirrut likes. The narration is all in Mandarin, which Baze only gets about half of, but it’s soothing; she drops her head back on the couch and stretches her legs out, closing her eyes.

They pop open again a few minutes later when Chirrut flings herself on the couch and deposits her feet in Baze’s lap. She’s put on one of Baze’s lacrosse tee shirts and it’s roomy enough to sag around her collarbones. If she were standing, it would hit her at about mid-thigh, but like this, it rides up around her hips, exposing her obnoxious stripy boy-briefs. Baze looks away and sulks. _She’s doing it on purpose_ , she thinks, but the voice of reason filters in overtop her lovelorn angst. _Chirrut does this all the time. She’s being normal on purpose to put you at ease._

“I heard the dulcet tones of oceanography calling my name,” Chirrut says, wriggling her toes invitingly. Baze drops her hand to the top of one and digs her thumb into the arch. Chirrut sighs happily. “You’re the best.”

Baze just grunts and tries to focus on the film. She purposely left the subtitles off so she would be forced to pay attention, but it’s difficult with Chirrut laying there, face still freshly dewy with moisturizer and smelling like her honey-verbena shower gel. “Feeling better?”

“Mm?”

“After a shower. You were kinda… hairy.”

“Oh!” She laughs. “Yes. Much better. I’m going to save a fortune in shampoo.” She lifts her hands and rubs them through her hair obsessively. “Baze?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk about something?”

Baze freezes with her thumb pressed to the ball of Chirrut’s foot and her heart a solid lump inside her throat. “Uh. Sure.” She reaches for the remote and turns the volume down a few pegs. The rush of water and the heaving tide of the half-familiar language fade to a murmur. “What’s up?”

Chirrut folds her hands across her belly and frowns at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking. About what you said a couple weeks ago, when we were watching… what the fuck was it called?”

“I don’t remember,” Baze lies, dry-mouthed. She suddenly longs for a glass of water to rinse out the taste of Totino’s and disappointment.

“Hmm. Well, anyway.” She licks her lips, the barest pause that still somehow feels significant. Chirrut is almost never at a loss for words. Baze holds her breath. “I know that what I said wasn’t, um, ideal. For you.”

“It’s okay, Chirrut,” Baze says numbly. “You don’t have to explain. We can just keep on being friends and not talk about it again.”

Chirrut huffs. “I’m trying to _tell you_. I don’t want to keep on being just friends.”

Baze’s chest cracks open. _Oh._ “Well. I mean, that’s… that’s fine, too. Whatever you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I guess you’ll want to move out, right? I can help you find somewhere else to live until you finish school, and I can—I can go stay at Saw’s for a week or two if you need space—”

“ _Baze_.”

Baze shuts up. She feels pinned, like a rabbit in a trap—her heart is beating wildly in her chest and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. She just wants to _flee_.

“Baze, that isn’t what I meant! For goodness’ sake, calm down.” Chirrut sits up and reaches out, waving her hands around until she finds Baze’s arm, then her shoulder, her cheek. Baze has no idea what expression she’s wearing; her face feels like ice. Chirrut’s hand is a blazing red-hot poker in comparison. Her thumb grazes a track of wetness on Baze’s cheek and her face crumples. “ _Baze._ ”

In a trice Chirrut is straddling her lap and sitting there, square as a house, hands cupping Baze’s face decisively. “Baze, listen to me. I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you. Okay?”

Baze gives a little hiccup. Horrified at herself, she buries her face in Chirrut’s shoulder and gives in to the urge to wrap her arms around her slender, muscled waist. “I’m sorry,” she says thickly, forcing back the thick miasma of terror and relief bubbling in her stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“To what?” Chirrut asks gently, carding her fingers through Baze’s damp, tangled hair. “To fall in love with me?”

Baze quivers silently. Chirrut’s question feels like an arrow reaming her open, exposing the ugly inconvenience of her heart. “You’re my best friend,” she says at last, voice cracking. “That’s all that matters. That’s all I want. Please…”

“Shhh. God, I’ve fucked this up royally.” Chirrut holds her tightly, cradles the back of Baze’s head in the palm of her hand like she’s holding a newborn. “I’m sorry, Baze, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—well, I _did_ , but I didn’t realize it was so… so _much_. For you. I’m sorry.” She rests her cheek on the top of Baze’s head and lets her sniffle a little bit. “Want me to get you a tissue?”

Baze coughs out a laugh and shakes her head. She doesn’t want to let go. “I’m fine. Sorry.” She wipes her face sloppily and dabs her nose with the sleeve of Chirrut’s borrowed shirt. “What were you saying?”

Chirrut sits back on her thighs, the worried furrow in her brow going shallow. She’s still holding on to her shoulders. “What I was _trying_ to say, badly, is that I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And I think… I’d like to try. I don’t know how good I’ll be at the romance thing, but.” She gives a little helpless shrug. “If you’re willing to give it a shot, I am, too.”

Baze takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. _Is this what it feels like to have an out of body experience?_ “This isn’t just because you feel bad for me, is it?”

“No! Don’t insult me.” Chirrut sticks her nose in the air, provoking a weak chuckle from Baze. “I just—you surprised me, is all. I wasn’t expecting it. I guess I’ve never really thought about it, about us… dating?”

Baze tentatively lets her hands rest palm-down on Chirrut’s skinny thighs. She’s a little scrapper, her Cricket, petite but full of fire, and deadly with her fists when she wants to be; years of studying Wing Chun have seen to that. Baze probably wouldn’t stand a chance against her, and yet she still feels the absurd desire to wrap her up in a blanket and keep her safe. “Do you want us to date?”

“I don’t know. What _is_ dating, anyway?”

Baze shrugs. “Going out? And kissing, I guess?”

“So we’re already dating, then, minus the kissing. We live together. We eat together.” Chirrut ticks them off on her fingers. “We pool our rent and grocery money. We wear each other’s clothes. We cuddle.”

“Just gals being pals,” Baze remarks, and Chirrut groans.

“Okay, rule number one, if we’re going to be dating: I forbid you from using the words _gal_ or _pal_ in my presence ever again.”

Baze pouts. “But you’re my _favorite_ gal pal—yowch!” She jerks back as Chirrut stabs her sides with her fingers, tickling her mercilessly. “Chirrut, stop! Stoppit!”

“ _Make me_ ,” Chirrut purrs.

Before she can second-guess herself, Baze is grabbing Chirrut around the waist and wrestling her onto her back. Chirrut shrieks and kicks, kneeing Baze in the side, but Baze is no stranger to taking hits and she shrugs it off, worming Chirrut deeper into the plush, shabby cushions.

“Well?” she huffs when Chirrut finally stops struggling. Chirrut blinks up at her, sightless and smiling, looking like a dishevelled porcupine with her buzzed hair flattened and her face red from laughter. Baze’s heart thuds against her ribcage. “Say uncle.”

Chirrut licks her lips. Baze abruptly realizes that she can feel Chirrut’s breasts through her shirt—she isn’t wearing a bra. “I have a better idea,” Chirrut whispers, and pulls her down with a hand to the nape of her neck.

Baze kisses her with immense care. Soft as air, lighter than the punchy exhales Chirrut breathes against her cheek. Chirrut’s lips are just as soft as she always thought they would be, raw and tender on the inside from her incessant nibbling whenever she’s deep in her textbooks. After a moment or two of adjusting to the newness, Chirrut tightens her grip on the back of Baze’s neck and cranes up, demanding more—Baze swallows a tiny, desperate noise and opens her mouth.

Chirrut’s tongue, soft and slick, wells up against her own and then withdraws, shyly. When Baze lifts her head, Chirrut is smiling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You taste like Totino’s,” Chirrut confesses. She giggles at Baze’s mortified silence, and her whole body shakes, knees hiking up higher around Baze’s sturdy thighs. “It’s okay! I don’t mind. Come here—no, c’mere, I want you to kiss me again.”

“I should go brush my teeth,” Baze mumbles, but she lets herself be drawn back down to Chirrut’s soft mouth.

Kissing her is the best thing in the world. They fold together on the couch, legs slotting like spoons in a drawer—Chirrut’s outermost knee bends up, up, so that she can rub the flat of her foot against Baze’s thigh. Her hands tangle in Baze’s hair. Baze props herself up on one elbow to give her room to breathe, and the other finds its way to Chirrut’s face, cupping her jaw and guiding the fit of their mouths.

Soon she knows everything about Chirrut’s lips and tongue, and still she’s hungry for more. But she forces herself to slow down, pull back—this is still very new for both of them, moreso for Chirrut. Baze may have been silently pining for months (years), but she still knew how to have fun. She _needed_ to, or the pressing weight of her love for Chirrut would have consumed her a long time ago.

It’s consuming her now, and she’s not even mad. Chirrut makes the most delightful sounds when she’s being kissed, and she never seems to tire of Baze’s mouth—whenever Baze tries to pull back, tries to give her some breathing room, Chirrut just drags her back down.

“You don’t have to go slowly,” she gasps at last, clinging to Baze’s shoulders. She can’t seem to stop shifting. Baze holds herself carefully—one wrong move and she’ll be venturing into dangerous territory—but it’s hard to hold back when Chirrut is being so needy. “I want you to kiss me like you mean it.”

“I _am_ ,” Baze says, shaking a little with the effort of holding herself up. They’ve chosen a poor place for this—the couch is a little short for Baze to stretch out fully, and there’s hardly any room to lay down, half on top of one another and half on their sides—but she doesn’t want to drag herself away.

“No,” Chirrut growls, “you’re _not_.” She shifts, very deliberately, and one of Baze’s thighs slides between hers. Baze’s shorts have ridden up by now, and she can feel, very distinctly, the hot and damp between her legs. Baze freezes.

“Chirrut—”

“ _What_?” Chirrut says, belligerently. Then she softens, the twin blooms of color on her cheeks gentling her furious blue eyes. “If you want to slow down, we can.”

“If _I_ —” She cuts herself off and buries her face in Chirrut’s shoulder, getting a mouthful of fabric for her trouble. “Chirrut, _you’re_ the one who just decided that you wanted to do this.”

“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t _just_. I’ve been thinking about it for two solid weeks—one solid week of asking myself what _I_ wanted, and then another week to figure out how to tell you. And even then I fucked it up.” Chirrut smiles in spite of her words and strokes Baze’s tangled monstrosity of hair back from her face. “And second of all, I know you’re demi, and I don’t want to rush you. _I_ am just fine with boning right here on this couch, but I’m also fine with waiting. You just let me know what you want to do.”

Baze stares down at her, paralyzed with indecision. “I always thought you were…”

“What?”

“Uh… ace, maybe? Or aro?”

Chirrut shrugs her shoulders broadly, and the movement jostles Baze a little closer, a little higher in between her legs. Her face creases briefly, and when she speaks, her voice is soft and slightly strained. “I’m—I am what I am. I don’t know what the fuck to call it, and honestly I don’t care. I have _you_ , and that’s all I really care about.”

Baze bends down and kisses her cheek. “So… you want to?”

“Kinda. Yeah. A lot.” She grins, a cross between cheeky and embarrassed, and rocks up into Baze’s weight. “You feel really good.”

Baze shivers. “So do you.” She kisses her again on the corner of her mouth and lets her hand drift from Chirrut’s cheek to her shoulder. “Can I…”

Chirrut inhales. “Yeah.”

With her heart thundering in her chest, Baze cups her hand around the swell of Chirrut’s breast. It’s so little and soft, about the size of a small peach, filling the palm of her hand. She gives a gentle squeeze and explores the hardening peak of her nipple with her thumb. Beneath her, Chirrut whines.

Suddenly feeling constricted by her shorts, Baze moves back and sits up on her heels. “Just a second,” she says when Chirrut protests, fiddling with the elastic. A few moments of awkward fumbling and she’s throwing the damn things across the room and easing herself back into Chirrut’s arms. Their mouths find each other immediately, and Baze licks in straight away, cupping the same breast in her hand and rubbing the nipple more firmly through her borrowed shirt.

“ _Baze_ ,” Chirrut whispers, voice cracked and dry. She squirms underneath her weight, and Baze can feel her against her upper thigh, blazing hot and _wet_ , wet enough to leave a cooling damp patch behind when Baze shifts her weight. “Baze, oh my _god_ , take my shirt off.”

“Bossy,” Baze says breathlessly, already fumbling with the hem. She drags it up and off and gives an audible gasp. Chirrut’s nipples are both reddened and hard, begging for attention, and her belly is so smooth and soft, with little curls of black hair peeking out the top of her briefs. She doesn’t know where to touch first.

“Baze, I’m fucking begging you,” Chirrut says, and Baze gives in.

She kisses Chirrut’s throat and works her way down. Greedy, she sucks one nipple into her mouth—the same she’d worried earlier with her thumb—and works her tongue against it, round and round in circles before pulling off with a wet noise. Chirrut cries out and grinds against her thigh, grabbing at her arms, the hem of her sweatshirt. Baze pulls back a bit, letting her explore, and grins at Chirrut’s huff of frustration when she hits her sports bra.

“Not yet,” she murmurs, batting her hands away. “Let me do this.”

“I’m going to literally die,” Chirrut announces, and then she shoves half her hand into her mouth as Baze nibbles softly on the other side of her chest. The underside of her breast is smooth and tender, thin-skinned; Baze nuzzles it and mouths sloppy kisses there until Chirrut’s anguished gasps guide her up to suckle at the peak. Her tongue flicks lazily, and she hums her appreciation for Chirrut to feel vibrating all through her chest.

“Had enough yet?” she murmurs when she pulls off, smirking even though Chirrut can’t see it.

“Not even close,” Chirrut gasps. She reaches down between their bodies and grabs unerringly for Baze’s thigh, holds it in place to give her something to hump against. She whines, fingers digging in, but Baze takes her wrist and tsks. “ _Baze_ —!”

“Easy,” Baze murmurs. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby.”

Chirrut sobs and drags her nails against her own scalp in frustration. “ _Please_ , Baze, please, I can’t take much more of—”

Her voice slices off into oblivion the moment Baze touches her knuckles to the mount of Chirrut’s pubic bone. “Sorry, what was that?”

Chirrut draws in a ragged breath. “Nothing. Nothing…”

Baze cups her briefly, then slides a finger into the waistband, tugging it away from her body. She can already smell the heady musk between Chirrut’s legs, and it’s making her mouth water. “Take these off for me?”

Chirrut nods frantically, pushing at the fabric with clumsy hands. Between the two of them, they eventually get the briefs off and onto the floor. Baze takes the spare moment to strip off her sweatshirt and wriggle free of her bra, and dives back in.

“Mmmmh, _finally_ ,” Chirrut purrs, feeling her up shamelessly. Baze is quite a bit more well-endowed than Chirrut, a bane more often than a boon in her opinion, but right now she doesn’t mind too much. Chirrut’s hands explore freely, cupping the weight of her breasts in both hands, squeezing gently and craning up off the couch cushions to lick long, delicious stripes along her cleavage. Then she twists and tweaks gently at her nipples and Baze comes back to earth.

“Okay, hang on. I need to—” Baze sits up again and kisses Chirrut’s searching fingertips apologetically. “I want to see what I’m doing, just this first time.”

Chirrut snorts. “Amateur,” she teases, but she subsides, folding her hands behind her head with a smug expression. “You may proceed.”

“Brat.” Baze pinches her inner thigh, just hard enough to elicit a yelp, and rubs the spot with an open palm. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Chirrut blinks, nonplussed. “Are you planning on fisting me, or something?”

Baze cackles in spite of herself. “Not this time. Maybe for round two.” And then, before Chirrut can make a smart comeback, she slides her thumb along the crease of her labia. Chirrut goes absolutely still. With a self-satisfied grin playing at the corners of her mouth, Baze repeats the motion, opening her up slowly.

She can already feel the dampness in her curls—Chirrut doesn’t have a _lot_ of pubic hair, but what she does have is long and lushly curled, marching up to short dark hairs that cling in a tight arrow to her navel. Baze traces that line with her thumb from top to bottom, and this time she exerts enough pressure to slide in between the folds. Chirrut quivers.

“You’re soaking wet,” Baze marvels, rubbing that smooth, slick skin with the pad of her thumb. She nudges back up, rubbing in little circles, and she feels it when her knuckle brushes Chirrut’s clit. She can _see_ it, too, can see the effect it has on her—she goes rigid, toes curling into the couch cushions, and her mouth drops open slightly. Baze nudges harder and then withdraws, and smiles when Chirrut’s brow wrinkles and she pouts. “You want more?”

“You know I do,” Chirrut says petulantly. Baze is tempted to drag it out a little more, but her own arousal stops her. Brushing one last kiss to her sternum, she scoops Chirrut’s hips up with both hands and goes to her knees.

She means to treat her gently, to go slow. But Chirrut hooks her ankles behind Baze’s shoulders and grips her hair in both hands, so Baze licks into the core of her eagerly, following the blood-hot groove with her tongue. Damp hair tickles her upper lip, and her cheek when she slides a thumb down to spread her open. Above her, Chirrut groans and swears, and Baze tickles the tip of her tongue to her clit. Presses her thumb down, down, and _in_. Chirrut is snug but slick, turned on enough that the inward press is easy. Baze pumps her hand, feeling the drag of her inner walls against her knuckle, and then the clasp of her heels suddenly goes tight and she can feel Chirrut spasming around her thumb.

“Oh my god,” Chirrut gasps when it’s over, legs falling slack. Baze kisses her inner thigh, smearing wetness there, and she smiles when Chirrut’s hand falls against her cheek, probing and curious. “Oh my god, Baze, _fuck_.”

“You still good?” Baze asks, gently easing her thumb out and back in again. Chirrut squirms and moans, open-mouthed.

“Yeah—yeah, still good. But wait. Sit up, up on the couch—”

Chirrut pushes her back by her shoulders and Baze lets herself be manipulated, sitting with her back against the arm of the couch and her legs spread to accommodate Chirrut as she kneels between them. “What did you have in mind?” she murmurs. Chirrut’s answer is a kiss—a very wet, licking kiss as she laps up the taste of her own cunt from Baze’s lips. She steadies Chirrut with hands at her waist and smiles when Chirrut wriggles close, shamelessly straddling one thick thigh and rubbing off against it.

“Show me,” Chirrut demands breathlessly. She’s flushed a rosy pink all down her chest, small breasts shaking slightly as she rocks back and forth. Her nipples are perfect, beaded tight and red—Baze flicks them with her thumbs, none too gently, and Chirrut gasps, fumbles a hand down Baze’s front to tug anxiously at her underwear. “Show me what to do.”

“Don’t you—for yourself?” Baze asks, but it ends on a yelp as Chirrut gets her hand inside and her fingers trace the inner lips of her labia greedily.

“You _shave_?” Chirrut exclaims delightedly. “Oh my god, I had no idea! Wait, do you want _me_ to shave? Oh god, did you get pubes in your mouth?”

“Chirrut, shut up.” Baze grits her teeth and rolls her hips up as Chirrut explores the length of her cunt with two slippery fingers. She’s not interested in getting Baze off yet, just feeling her way around, and it’s _maddening_. “Just fuck me, _please_.”

“Oh-ho, _now_ who’s all desperate?” Chirrut crows, but the effect is somewhat lost when she gives a sudden whimper and grinds down harder, faster, and comes again right against Baze’s thigh. Baze throbs in sympathy and grabs Chirrut’s wrist.

“Fine,” she gasps, red-faced, “then I’ll do it myself.” Holding Chirrut’s hand in place, she works her hips with Chirrut’s hand right where she needs it. Her eyes slam shut and she whines when she feels Chirrut responding, curling her fingers and crooning encouragement in her ear. “I’m—” she gasps, and bites her lip. “Fuck, Chirrut, I’m going to come, I’m—”

“Come on then, love,” Chirrut murmurs. She cups one of Baze’s breasts in her hand, pinching the nipple between her two forefingers, and Baze shouts when she comes, deep-seated—it seems to draw from the very center of her body, hard and hot and unending, and it’s only when it’s over that she feels the wet spot she’s left on the couch.

“Dammit.”

Chirrut is wide-eyed and panting harshly for breath as she lifts her wet hand to her mouth and sucks her fingers clean. Baze groans and shuts her eyes. “Baze, did you…?”

“I—yeah. Sorry, I didn’t think—it doesn’t happen very often,” she trails off weakly.

Chirrut smacks her lips irreverently. “Doesn’t taste like much of anything.”

“Well it’s not _piss_ , Chirrut.”

“I _know_ that!” Laughing, Chirrut flings herself down like a fainting maiden in an old black-and-white film. Baze grunts at the sudden weight but wraps her arms around her securely nonetheless. “I liked it,” Chirrut whispers in her ear, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Did you want more? I’m sorry I was fucking around with you, I can actually try this time.”

“It’s okay.” Baze nuzzles a kiss to her sparse hairline. The air smells like sex and sweat—only the faint aroma of Totino’s prevents the scene from being obscenely decadent. “Shower with me? And I should put a towel down or something…”

“It’ll air dry,” Chirrut says dismissively. “It’s mostly water, anyway.”

Baze groans and pushes her off. “Fine, I’ll put a towel down next time, _before_ we get too carried away.”

“Mmm, next time.” Chirrut stands and stretches, long, lean, her arms arching over her head and her dark shock of pubic hair curling like a little lick of ink at the juncture of her legs. Baze inhales and leans close, kissing her soft belly right below her navel. “Hmm. Yes, I could get used to this.”

Chirrut drops her hand to Baze’s hair and pets her. Baze leans harder against her side as delicious tingles run through her neck and back, and sighs. “Thank you.”

“Nnh? For what?”

“Just… giving us a chance.”

“Well clearly I shouldn’t have hesitated for so long—the benefits are manifold and magnificent.” When Baze only snorts, Chirrut tugs gently at her hair and says, “Up, up! Let’s rinse off and finish watching his documentary.”

“Didn’t you watch it last week?”

“I had it on in the background,” Chirrut says dismissively. “Ambiance. I just really like his voice, okay?”

“Weirdo,” Baze says, but she’s laughing. On impulse, she stands and scoops Chirrut into her arms, carrying her bridal style to the bathroom. Chirrut kicks her feet, but it’s only a token protest—when Baze goes to set her down, she wriggles and pouts and demands more kisses. Baze sighs and puts her on her feet, but only so she can cup Chirrut’s little round face in her hands and kiss her dizzy.

“Love you,” she murmurs shyly when she breaks away.

Chirrut beams widely. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from future islands' "ran"


End file.
